LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

'° 


IN  THE  POE  CIRCLE 


,       .-*• 


F.ROM      AN      ETCHING      BY     S.     HOLLYER 


In  The  Poe  Circle 


With  Some  Account  of  the  Poe- 

Chivers  Controversy,  and  other 

Poe  Memorabilia 


BY 
JOEL  BENTON 

Author  of  "  Emerson  as  a  Poet " 


M.  F.  MANSFIELD  &  A.  WESSELS 

NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1899 

BY  M.  F.  MANSFIELD  &  A.  WESSELS 
NEW  YORK 


Dedication 


To  My  Father 

Whose  Patient  Fortitude 
under  Extreme  and  Life 
long  Trials,  and  whose 
Generous  Nature  I  have 
Never  Known  Surpassed. 


Contents. 


PAGE 

THE  PRECURSOR  OF  POE 7 

THE  POE-CHIVERS  CONTROVERSY,  .  .  .31 
POE'S  OPINION  OF  THE  RAVEN,  .  .  .54 
THOMAS  HOLLEY  CHIVERS,  .  .  .  .61 
BAUDELAIRE  AND  POE:  A  BRIEF  PARALLEL,  .  69 
BIBLIOGRAPHY,  .  .  .  .  .  .81 


Prefatory   Note 

The  interest  which  the  serial 
publication  of  the  articles  here 
collected  has  evoked,  through  a 
wide-spread  constituency,  has 
prompted  me  to  gather  them  to 
gether  in  this  way.  It  only 
remains  to  be  said  that  they  ap 
peared,  two  of  them,  in  Collier's 
Weekly  ;  two  in  The  Forum  ;  one 
in  Mtmsey's  ;  and  one  in  Truth. 

It  is  hoped  the  illustrative  and 
subsidiary  features  presented,  not 
less  than  the  temper  of  the  dis 
cussion,  may  have  something  to 
offer  to  those  who  care  for  Poe. 


JOEL  BENTON 


Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y. 
August  i,  1899 


This  is  a  reproduction 
of  the  only  shingle 
remaining  from  the 
original  roof  which 
covered  the  cottage 
at  Fordham  while 
Poe  lived  there. 

J.B. 


ON  A  SHINGLE. 

Taken  from  the  Edgar  Allan  Poe  Cottage  at  Fordham 


Beneath  this  bit  of  darkened  pine, 

Genius  and  grief  once  dwelt  together ; 
Bard  of  "The  Raven's "  haunting  line, 

Shingle  and  bard  in  bitterest  weather. 

But  then  the  cold  world  had  not  heard 

Of  that  immitigable  sorrow; 
And  human  hearts  it  only  stirred 

When  dawned  the  too  late,  far  to-morrow. 

If  it  should  speak,  it's  parent  tree's 

Sad  chords — when  winds  its  boughs  were  swaying — 
Would  fail  to  voice  the  tragedies 

All  words  are  powerless  for  portraying. 

Joel  Benton. 


The   Precursor   of  Poe. 

THERE  is  no  literary  reputation  in  Amer 
ica,  and  few  literary  names  of  the  last  half- 
century,  that  evoke  the  curious,  haunting 
memory  which  belongs  to  Poe.  A  new  and 
well-authenticated  poem  bearing  his  name, 
which  Mr.  R.  H.  Stoddard  says  he  believes 
it  will  never  be  possible  at  this  date  to  find, 
would  make  a  tremendous  literary  event. 
The  discovery  of  a  new  Shakespearian  play 
might  be  more  interesting  to  more  people ; 
but  in  America,  and  in  France,  where  Poe's 
influence  has  distinctly  touched  two  groups 
of  authors  belonging  to  two  generations, 
a  genuine  Poe  discovery  would,  with  large 
numbers,  take  precedence. 

One  may  state  the  fact  without  being  able 
' 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


to  give  it  critical  justification.  In  fact,  the 
critic  of  Poe  as  a  poet  cannot  reasonably  ac 
count  for  him  and  his  fame.  A  great  deal 
of  the  verse  that  he  wrote,  if  it  was  pre 
sented  to-day  for  the  first  time,  would  at 
tract  little  attention.  If  you  subtract  from  his 
body  of  poetry — which  is  not  a  large  quan 
tity  taken  altogether — "The  Raven,"  "An 
nabel  Lee,"  and  possibly  one  or  two  more 
of  the  poems,  in  which  list  "The  Bells,"  for 
its  bizarreness,  might  be  included,  what, 
really,  would  there  be  left  to  found  this 
singular  and  unchallenged  fame  upon  ? 

But  no  such  treatment  would  be  detri 
mental  to  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Emerson,  or 
Lowell;  and  Holmes  and  Whittier  could 
bear  it  equally  well  without  essential  loss  of 
distinction.  What  was  it,  then,  that  Poe 
contributed  to  literature  which  so  tingles 
the  nerves  and  stirs  up  pulsations  of  de 
light?  It  is  certainly  nothing  that  he  offers 
in  the  domain  of  thought.  He  settles  no 
real  problems,  nor  discusses  them  even,  nor 

[8] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


peers  into  them.  In  one  or  two  passages  in 
Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of 
Immortality,"  and  on  almost  any  page  of 
Tennyson's  "In  Memoriam,"  can  be  found 
more  criticism  of  life,  which  is  what  Mat 
thew  Arnold  calls  the  function  of  poetry, 
than  there  is  in  all  the  poems  Poe  ever 
wrote.  No  great  poet  that  we  know  drifted 
so  far  away  from  Arnold's  ideal  as  Poe  did; 
while  some  of  our  minor  poets  fulfil  it  to  a 
very  high  degree. 

Certainly   somewhere    and   somehow   he 
had  and  gave  charm ;  and  Arnold  said  also : 

"  Charm  is  the  glory  which  makes 
Song  of  the  poet  divine." 

This  charm,  too,  may  have  been  height 
ened,  or  made  piquant,  by  his  romantic  and 
desolate  career.  Such  a  career,  marking 
nearly  a  whole  life,  and  ending  it  with  a 
sharp  climax  so  inverted  from  what  we 
could  wish  it  to  have  been,  no  doubt  gives 
added  interest  to  his  work.  It  gives  it,  be 
cause  it  seems  so  hard  that  a  man  of  so 
[9] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


ethereal  genius  should  not  have  been  a 
crowned  prince  instead  of  being  driven  to  a 
lifelong  struggle  which  he  was  ill  fitted  to 
maintain.  You  cannot  harness  humming 
birds  as  common  carriers,  nor  spirits  like 
Poe's  to  prosaic  daily  concerns.  Yet  the 
world  has  no  allowance  to  make  for  this  law 
of  adaptation.  It  cares  little  at  the  time 
the  poet  is  living  what  becomes  of  that 
most  precious  commodity  which  is  called 
genius,  nor  did  it  ever  care.  But  it  will 
rave  over  and  dote  upon  it  a  generation 
after  the  time  help  and  honors  have  ceased 
to  be  of  any  earthly  avail.  Was  it  not  long 
ago  said — 

"  Seven  cities  claimed  the  birth  of  Homer,  dead, 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his 
bread"? 

Yet  if  Poe  felt  impediments  acutely,  a 
romantic  career,  with  poverty  and  various 
ills  combined,  will  not  create  a  genius,  as  it 
sometimes  will  not  suppress  one.  Poe,  it 
must  be  conceded,  had  a  hard,  tragical  fate, 

[10] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


and  for  his  waywardness  we  need  not  stop 
to  partition  the  blame.  Differ  here  as  we 
may,  it  is  not  denied  that  he  brought  to  us, 
independently  of  his  condition,  a  bouquet  of 
thrilling  verse  that  seems  to  hold  peren 
nially  its  place,  its  beauty,  and  its  wonder, 
and  to  glow  ever  afresh  "  in  the  corridors  of 
Time."  There  was  at  any  rate  some  subtle 
substance,  or  color,  or  melody  in  it,  that  the 
world  does  not  willingly  let  die.  From  his 
best  pages  exhales  an  aroma  that  his  imita 
tors  do  not  quite  repeat,  and  cannot  pro 
duce.  There  was  a  mould  of  form  and  a 
music  which  were,  as  the  world  thinks,  his 
own,  but  which  have  been  echoed  more  or 
less,  and  have  influenced  other  poets — nota 
bly  Baudelaire  and  Swinburne.  Nor  would 
the  modern  decadents  have  been  just  what 
they  are  if  Poe  had  not  lived,  and  written 
as  he  did. 

But,  in  writing  thus  far,  and  saying  these 
few  things,  I  am  not  aiming  to  enlarge  the 
quantity   of   Poe   criticism  which    we   now 
[ii] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


have,  or  to  even  emphasize  the  mental  pic 
ture  of  Poe  which  is  already  very  definite  in 
the  public  mind.  My  purpose,  rather,  is  to 
speak  of  a  poet  little  known  now,  who  once 
made  claim  to  be,  or  whose  friends  assert 
was,  Poe's  precursor.  That  he  came  very 
near  to  being  a  considerable  poet,  and  that 
he  embodies  more  of  the  Poe  atmosphere 
and  melody  than  exist  anywhere  out  of 
Poe's  verse,  will  not  be  hard  to  prove. 

This  author,  as  was  true  of  Poe  himself, 
belonged  to  the  South ;  but  of  his  life  I  have 
only  a  slight  record,  which  shows  that  he  was 
a  doctor  and  lived  during  his  later  years,  at 
least,  in  Georgia.  Before  Poe  was  known, 
this  poet — T.  H.  Chivers,  M.D. — was  writ 
ing  various  weird  and  musical  lyrics  which 
I  presume  went  from  time  to  time  through 
the  Southern  press.  Nearly  sixty  years  ago 
he  began  collecting  them  in  book  form ;  and 
there  were  seven  or  eight  volumes  of  them 
in  all — a  much  more  voluminous  poetical 
legacy  than  Poe's.  I  have  only  seen  one  of 
[12] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


these  volumes,  but  the  following  list  gives 
the  names  of  all  the  books  Chivers  wrote, 
so  far  as  I  can  discover,*  in  the  order  of 
their  appearance : 

"  Nacooche,  or  the  Beautiful  Star,  with 
other  Poems,"  i2mo,  pp.  153,  New  York, 
1837;  "The  Lost  Pleiad,  and  other  Poems," 
8vo,  pp.  32,  New  York,  1845;  "Eonchs  of 
Ruby:  A  Gift  of  Love,"  8vo,  pp.  108,  New 
York,  1851;  "  Memoralia,  or  Phials  of 
Amber,"  "Full  of  the  Tears  of  Love,"  "A 
Gift  for  the  Beautiful,"  i2mo,  pp.  168, 
Philadelphia,  1853;  "Virginalia,  or  Songs 
of  My  Summer  Nights  and  Gift  of  Love  for 
the  Beautiful,"  i2mo,  pp.  132,  Philadel 
phia,  1853;  "  The  Sons  of  Usna :  A  Tragic 

*  In  the  "  Diversion  of  the'  Echo  Club, "  there  is  refer 
ence  to  a  seventh  volume  by  Chivers,  titled  "  Facets  of 
Diamonds."  Allibone's  supplement  mentions  also  an 
eighth,  titled  "  Atlanta,  or  the  True  Blessed  Island  of 
Poesy  "  ;  a  Paul  epic  in  three  lustra  ;  Macon,  Ga. ,  1855, 
8vo.  [While  this  article  is  going  to  press  I  find  a  record 
of  what  must  be  this  prolific  poet's  first  book,  and  it  is 
titled  as  follows,  "  Conrad  and  Eudora,  or  the  Death  of 
Alonzo.  A  Threnody,"  i6mo,  pp.  144,  Philadelphia, 
1834-] 

[13] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


Apotheosis  in  Five  Acts,"  pp.  92,  Philadel 
phia,  1858. 

It  would  be  difficult,  ordinarily,  to  write 
about  a  poem  from  a  consideration  chiefly  of 
one  of  his  many  volumes,  and  I  feel  the 
limitation  this  attempt  imposes.  But  it  is 
admitted,  I  believe,  by  the  few  who  know 
the  most  of  Chivers,  that  he  put  his  char 
acteristic,  and  probably  his  best  work  in 
the  third  volume  which  he  issued  —  "  The 
Eonchs  of  Ruby."  And  it  is  this  volume 
which  I  have  before  me.  The  motto  on  the 
title-page  of  it  is  as  follows: 

"  The  precious  music  of  the  heart. " 

— WORDSWORTH. 

The  publishers  were  Spalding  &  Shepard  of 
New  York.  The  publishers  of  the  remain 
ing  volumes  I  do  not  know,  and  I  regret 
that  I  cannot  give  their  title-pages  as  com 
pletely  as  I  have  that  of  the  volume  which  is 
at  hand. 

It  will  be  noticed  at  once  that  Chivers 
did  not  abide  altogether  by  the  dictionary, 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


as  no  such  word  as  "  Eonchs  "  exists.  But 
more  of  this  tendency  of  his  to  speak  large, 
sonorously,  and  with  independence,  will  ap 
pear  later  on. 

The  most  Poe-like  and  the  best  of  his 
pieces  in  this  volume  is  undoubtedly  his 
"  Lily  Adair."  If  he  really  wrote  this  poem 
before  Poe  was  known  to  him,  the  coinci 
dence  of  accent,  rhythm,  and  style  with 
Poe's  work  suggests  a  curious  study.  Al 
though  the  date  of  the  book  containing  it 
was  too  late  to  show  an  antecedence  to  Poe, 
the  separate  pieces  in  the  book  must  have 
preceded  that  year  by  a  distance  not  now 
to  be  determined.  It  must  be  remembered, 
too,  that  the  two  volumes  which  were  first 
issued  by  Chivers  were  given  to  the  public 
— the  second  six  years,  and  the  first  fourteen 
years  before  "  The  Eonchs  of  Ruby "  ap 
peared  ;  so  that,  if  we  properly  antedate  the 
poems  Chivers  collected  in  1837,  we  find 
him  writing  in  the  Poe  manner  over  sixty 
years  ago — perhaps  over  seventy  years  ago. 
[is] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


But  here  is  the  poem,  and  it  will  tell,  in 
part  at  least,  its  own  story : 

LILY  ADAIR. 
I. 

The  Apollo  Belvidere  was  adorning* 

The  Chamber  where  Eulalie  lay, 
While  Aurora,  the  Rose  of  the  Morning, 

Smiled  full  in  the  face  of  the  Day. 
All  around  stood  the  beautiful  Graces 

Bathing  Venus — some  combing  her  hair- 
While  she  lay  in  her  husband's  embraces 

A-moulding  my  Lily  Adair — 

Of  my  fawn-like  Lily  Adair — 

Of  my  dove-like  Lily  Adair — 

Of  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 

II. 

Where  the  Oreads  played  in  the  Highlands, 
And  the  Water-Nymphs  bathed  in  the  streams, 

In  the  tall  Jasper  Reeds  of  the  Islands — 
She  wandered  in  life's  early  dreams. 

*  It  was  a  beautiful  idea  of  the  Greeks  that  the 
procreation  of  beautiful  children  might  be  pro 
moted  by  keeping  in  their  sleeping  apartments  an 
Apollo  or  Hyacinthus.  In  this  way  they  not  only 
patronized  Art,  but  begat  a  likeness  of  their  own 
love. 

[16] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


For  the   Wood-Nymphs  then    brought  from   the 
Wildwood 

The  turtle-doves  Venus  kept  there, 
Which  the  Dryades  tamed,  in  his  childhood, 

For  Cupid,  to  Lily  Adair — 

To  my  dove-like  Lily  Adair — 

To  my  lamb-like  Lily  Adair — 

To  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 

III. 

Where  the  Opaline  Swan  circled,  singing, 

With  her  eider-down  Cygnets  at  noon, 
In  the  tall  Jasper  Reeds  that  were  springing 

From  the  marge  of  the  crystal  Lagoon — 
Rich  Canticles,  clarion-like,  golden, 

Such  as  only  true  love  can  declare, 
Like  an  Archangel's  voice  in  times  olden— 

I  went  with  my  Lily  Adair — 

With  my  lamb-like  Lily  Adair — 

With  my  saint-like  Lily  Adair — 

With  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 

IV. 

Her  eyes,  lily-lidded,  were  azure, 

Cerulian,  celestial,  divine — 
Suffused  with  the  soul-light  of  pleasure, 

Which  drew  all  the  soul  out  of  mine. 
She  had  all  the  rich  grace  of  the  Graces, 

And  all  that  they  had  not  to  spare ; 
For  it  took  all  their  beautiful  faces 

To  make  one  for  Lily  Adair — 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


For  my  Christ-like  Lily  Adair — 
For  my  Heaven-born  Lily  Adair — 
For  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 


V. 


She  was  fairer  by  far  than  that  Maiden, 
The  star-bright  Cassiope, 

Who  was  taken  by  Angels  to  Aiden, 
And  crowned  with  eternity. 

For  her  beauty  the  Sea-Nymphs  offended, 
Because  so  surpassingly  fair; 

And  so  death  then  the  precious  life  ended 
Of  my  beautiful  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  Heaven-born  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  star-crowned  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 


VI. 


From  her  Paradise-Isles  in  the  ocean, 
To  the  beautiful  City  of  On, 

By  the  mellifluent  rivers  of  Goshen, 
My  beautiful  Lily  is  gone ! 

In  her  Chariot  of  Fire  translated, 

Like  Elijah,  she  passed  through  the  air, 

To  the  City  of  God  golden-gated— 
The  Home  of  my  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  star-crowned  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  God-loved  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


VII. 

On  the  vista-path  made  by  the  Angels, 
In  her  Chariot  of  Fire,  she  rode, 

While  the  Cherubim  sang  their  Evangels — 
To  the  Gates  of  the  City  of  God. 

For  the  Cherubim-band  that  went  with  her, 
I  saw  them  pass  out  of  the  air — 

I  saw  them  go  up  through  the  ether 
Into  Heaven  with  my  Lily  Adair — 
With  my  Christ-like  Lily  Adair— 
With  my  God-loved  Lily  Adair — 
With  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair. 

Here,  without  question,  is  a  typical  breath 
of  the  Poe  afflatus,  which  it  needs  no  deli 
cate  ear  to  detect.  The  sacrifice  of  sense 
to  sound  is  sometimes  extreme,  but  the 
fault  in  a  lesser  degree  was  also  Poe's.  If 
you  forget  it  or  pardon  it  in  "  Lily  Adair," 
you  will  feel  the  same  flow  of  consonance 
and  melody  that  was  a  supreme  and  charac 
teristic  part  of  Poe's  endowment.  In  an 
other  poem,  which  is  entitled  "Love,"  ap 
pears  the  note  or  echo  of  "The  Bells."  I 
quote  below  a  few  stanzas  from  it : 
[19] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


What  is  it  that  makes  the  maiden 
So  like  Christ  in  Heaven  above? 
Or,  like  Heavenly  Eve  in  Aiden, 
Meeting  Adam,  blushing? — love — 

Love,  love,  love! 
Echo 

Love! 

What  is  it  that  makes  the  murmur 

Of  the  plaintive  turtle-dove 
Fill  our  hearts  with  so  much  summer 

Till  they  melt  to  passion? — love — 

Love,  love,  love  I 
Echo 

Love! 

Like  the  peace-song  of  the  Angels 
Sent  to  one  from  Heaven  above 
Who  believes  in  Christ's  Evangels 
Is  the  voice  of  one  in  love — 

Love,  love,  love! 
Echo 

Love! 


If  this  poem  merely  followed  "The 
Bells  "  we  should  call  it  a  very  weak  wash 
ing  of  Poe's  chalice;  but  if  it  preceded  that 
poem,  it  may  have  given  to  Poe  the  hint  on 
which  he  wrought  his  far  superior  produc 
tion. 

[20] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


II. 

IN  "The  Vigil  of  Aiden"  drivers  is  dis 
tinctly  Poesque.     He  opens  it  as  follows: 

In  the  Rosy  Bowers  of  Aiden 
With  her  ruby  lips  love-laden, 
Dwelt  the  mild,  the  modest  maiden, 

Whom  Politian  called  Lenore. 
As  the  churches,  with  their  whiteness, 
Clothe  the  earth  with  her  uprightness, 
Clothed  she  now  his  soul  with  brightness, 

Breathing  out  her  heart's  love-lore; 
For  her  lily  limbs  so  tender, 
Like  the  moon  in  her  own  splendor 
Seemed  all  earthly  things  to  render 

Bright  as  Eden  was  of  yore. 

Then  he  cried  out  broken-hearted, 
In  this  desert  world  deserted, 
Though  she  had  not  yet  departed — 
"Are  we  not  to  meet,  dear  maiden! 

In  the  Rosy  Bowers  of  Aiden, 

As  we  did  in  days  of  yore?" 
And  that  modest,  mild,  sweet  maiden, 
In  the  Rosy  Bowers  of  Aiden, 
With  her  lily  lips  love-laden, 

Answered,  "  Yes !  f orevermore ! " 
And  the  old  time  Towers  of  Aiden 

Echoed,  "Yes!  f  orevermore!" 

[21] 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


"  The  Vigil  of  Aiden  "  covers  twenty-six 
pages  of  the  "  Eonchs  of  Ruby,"  so  that  it 
is  difficult  to  sample  it  accurately.  But  I 
give  a  few  additional  extracts  from  it  be 
low: 

Oh !  the  plaintive  sweet  beseeching 
Of  those  lips  that  death  was  bleaching 

Then  her  mother  cried  "  My  Daughter!" 
As  from  earth  the  angels  caught  her — 
She  had  passed  the  Stygian  water 
On  the  Asphodelian  shore ! 

Through  the  amethystine  morning 
From  the  Jasper  Reeds  of  Aiden 

Lofty  piles  of  echoing  thunder, 
Filling  all  the  sky  Heaven  under — 
Drowning  all  the  stars  with  wonder — 
Burthened  with  the  name  Lenore ! 

And  the  lips  of  that  damned  Demon, 
Like  the  Syren  to  the  seamen, 
With  the  voice  of  his  dear  Leman, 
Answered,  "  Never— nevermore!" 

[22] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


And  the  old  time  Towers  of  Aiden 
Echoed,  "  Never — nevermore ! " 

"  Through  the  luminiferous  Gihon, 
To  the  Golden  City  high  on 
High  Eternity's  Mount  Zion, 

God  built  in  the  Days  of  Yore — 
To  the  Golden  Land  of  Goshen, 
Far  beyond  Time's  upper  ocean, 
Where,  beholding  our  devotion 

Float  the  argent  orbs  all  o'er — 
To  Avillon's  happy  Valley, 
Where  the  breezes  ever  dally 
With  the  roses  in  each  Alley — 

There  to  rest  forevermore." 

While  the  Seraphim  all  waited 
At  the  portals  congregated 
Of  the  City  Golden-gated, 

Crying,  "  Rise  with  thy  Lenore ! " 

Did  drivers  strike  first  these  cadences, 
now  so  familiar?  Or  were  they  Poe's  in 
vention  who  made  them  immortal  in  "  The 
Raven"?  In  Chivers's  poem  of  "Avalon" 
occur  such  passages  as  follow : 

For  thou  didst  tread  with  fire-ensandalled  feet, 

Star-crowned,  forgiven, 
[23] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


The  burning  diapason  of  the  stars  so  sweet, 
To  God  in  Heaven ! 


The  Violet  of  her  soul-suffused  eyes 

Was  like  that  flower 
Which  blows  its  purple  trumpet  at  the  skies 

For  Dawn's  first  hour 

Four  little  Angels  killed  by  one  cold  Death 
To  make  God  glad ! 

Thou  wert  like  Taleisin,  "  full  of  eyes," 

Babbling  of  Love ! 
My  beautiful,  Divine  Eumenides ! 

My  gentle  Dove ! 

Kindling  the  high-uplifted  stars  at  even 

With  thy  sweet  song, 
^  The  Angels,  on  the  Sapphire  Sills  of  Heaven, 

In  rapturous  throng 

Melted  to  milder  meekness  with  the  Seven 
Bright  Lamps  of  God  to  glory  given 
Leant  down  to  hear  thy  voice  roll  up  the  leven, 

Where  thou  art  lying 

Beside  the  beautiful  undying 
In  the  valley  of  the  passing  of  the  Moon, 
Oh !  Avalon !  my  son !  my  son ! 

On  the  poem  titled  "  Lord  Uther's  Lament 
[24] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


for  Ella  "  the  imprint  and  flavor,  which  we 
know  as  Poe's,  are  unquestionable.  Mark, 
for  instance,  these  stanzas: 

On  the  mild  month  of  October 
Through  the  fields  of  Cooly  Rauber 
By  the  great  Archangel  Huber, 

Such  sweet  songs  of  love  did  flow, 
From  her  golden  lips  preluded 
That  my  soul  with  joy  was  flooded, 
As  by  God  the  earth  was  wooded 

In  the  days  of  long  ago. 

All  her  soul's  divinest  treasure 
Poured  she  out  then  without  measure, 
Till  an  ocean  of  deep  pleasure 

Drowned  my  soul  from  all  its  woe ; 
Like  Cecilia  Inatella, 
In  the  Bowers  of  Boscabella, 
Sang  the  saintly  Angel  Ella 

In  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Here,  also,  is  a  visible  Poe  touch  from 
the  poem  of  "  The  Dying  Swan  " : 

"  Back  to  Hell,  thou  ghostly  Horror ! " 

Thus  I  cried,  dear  Isadore ! 
Phantom  of  remorseless  Sorrow ! 
Death  might  from  thee  pallor  borrow, 

Borrow  leanness  evermore ! 

[25] 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


In  one  of  Bayard  Taylor's  witty  accounts 
in  "The  Diversions  of  the  Echo  Club," 
Chivers  is  discussed.  "  The  Ancient  "  says : 
"  Why,  we  even  had  a  hope  that  something 
wonderful  would  come  out  of  Chivers !  " 

Omnes — Chivers  ? 

The  Ancient — Have  you  never  heard  of 
Chivers?  He  is  a  phenomenon.  .  .  .  One 
of  the  finest  images  in  modern  poetry  is  in 
his  "Apollo": 

Like  cataracts  of  adamant  uplifted  into  mountains, 
Making  oceans  metropolitan  for  the  splendor  of  the 
dawn. 

Further  on  "The  Ancient"  says:  "I  re 
member  also  a  stanza  of  his  '  Rosalie 
Lee'": 

Many  mellow  Cydonian  suckets, 

Sweet  apples,  anthosmal,  divine, 
From  the  ruby-rimmed  beryline  buckets, 

Star-gemmed,  lily-shaped,  hyaline; 
Like  the  sweet,  golden  goblet  found  growing 

On  the  wild  emerald  cucumber  tree, 
Rich,  brilliant,  like  chrysoprase  glowing 

Was  my  beautiful  Rosalie  Lee. 
[26] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


It  is  not  only  in  the  swing  of  his  verse, 
but  in  the  epithets  of  this  bizarre  Georgia 
poet,  and  sometimes  in  the  exact  phrases, 
that  we  are  confronted  with  the  Poe  man 
ner.  Such  words  as  "Aiden,"  "abysmal," 
"Eulalie,"  "Asphodel,"  "Evangel,"  "Ava- 
lon,"  "  Auber,"  and  dozens  of  others  require 
no  comment  or  footnote.  Two  poets  could 
not  have  fallen  upon  them  by  original 
choice,  to  say  nothing  of  the  atmosphere 
which  was  drawn  around  them.  Of  course 
there  is  no  question  that  Poe  used  this  ma 
chinery  and  hypnotism  better  than  Chivers 
did  or  could.  One  leaves  an  immortal  halo 
around  his  name,  and  the  other  a  nebulous 
mist  which  failed  to  condense  into  a  star. 

Poe  sometimes  divorced  sense  from  sonor 
ity — so  that  he  was  called  by  Emerson  "  the 
jingle  poet."  Chivers  carried  this  habit 
often  to  a  grotesqueness  fairly  lunatic. 
Poe's  nomenclature  at  least  was  sound. 
But  Chivers 's  was  so  far-fetched  and  abnor 
mal  that  meaning  never  entered  many  of 
[27] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


his  words,  and  etymology  did  not  preside 
over  their  capricious  and  erratic  birth. 
Perhaps  their  mystery  makes  them  more 
expressive  and  appalling.  Who,  for  in 
stance,  can  tell  what  is  an  "Eonch"? 
41  Anthosmal "  is  not  entirely  normal;  and 
some  others  which  he  uses  are,  apparently, 
merely  the  fruitage  of  his  fertile  fancy. 

Chivers  made  extreme  pomp  and  majesty 
of  expression  his  high  aim.  He  could  also 
be  fluent  when  he  revealed  no  message. 
You  are  reminded  by  him  of  Edwin  Lear's 
"The  Jumblies,"  and  of  the  epithet  quality 
of  Lewis  Carroll's  "  Jabberwock."  But  if 
he  set  the  mould  and  pace  for  Poe,  on  which 
Poe  erected  his  own  fame,  he  will  surely 
have  some  claim  to  remembrance.  It  is 
true  the  poetry,  which  is  weird  and  mysti 
fying,  and  which,  to  use  Taylor's  phrases, 
"has  a  hectic  flush,  a  strange,  fascinating, 
narcotic  quality,"  is  not  now  in  the  ascend 
ant.  When  its  fashion  comes  around  again, 
as  it  may  in  nature's  cyclic  progress,  will 

[28] 


The  Precursor  of  Poe 


Poe  and  drivers  stand  together  as  our 
poetic  Castor  and  Gemini,  or  "  Heavenly 
Twins"? 

One  event  which  suggests  drivers 's  prior 
ity  to  Poe  is  the  fact  that  Bryant  in  his 
"  Selections  from  American  Poetry, "  made 
in  1840,  gave  Poe  no  place,  while  drivers 's 
first  book  of  verse  appeared  several  years 
before  that  date;  and  Poe  was  hardly 
known  as  a  poet  before  1844. 

drivers 's  full  name  and  title  was  Thomas 
Holley  Chivers,  M.D.  Somehow  his  fame 
went  to  England  early;  for  there  has  been 
for  years,  it  is  said,  a  complete  set  of  his 
works  on  the  shelves  of  the  British  Mu 
seum.  And  a  complete  set  of  them,  it  is 
thought,  can  be  found  nowhere  else.  So 
hard  has  it  been  to  pick  up  the  facts  in  this 
curious  Georgia  poet's  life  that  we  cannot 
find  them  in  Allibone's  or  Appleton's  dic 
tionaries,  though  the  editor  of  the  latter  one 
made  a  diligent  effort  to  produce  them. 

But  it  seems  Swinburne's  knowledge  of 
[29] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


drivers 's  work  began  before  lie  himself  was 
so  very  widely  known.  When  Bayard 
Taylor  was  in  England,  nearly  thirty  years 
ago,  the  name  of  Chivers  happened,  casually, 
to  be  mentioned  in  Swinburne's  presence. 
"Oh,  Chivers,  Chivers,"  said  Swinburne,  in 
his  peculiar  voice,  "if  you  know  Chivers, 
give  me  your  hand."  Mr.  Stedman  says 
that  an  allusion  to  Chivers  in  Swinburne's 
hearing  causes  the  author  of  "Atalanta  in 
Calydon "  to  jump  up  and  down  in  his 
chair,  when  he  will  repeat  with  great  hilar 
ity  and  gusto  whole  passages  from  Chivers's 
books. 

It  has  been  suggested  to  me  by  one  critic 
and  author  that  Swinburne  not  only  re 
peated  them,  but  that  he  has  put  in  his  own 
poetry  many  marks  of  their  influence.  This 
is  something  near  to  a  laurel  or  bay-leaf  for 
Chivers,  if  he  was  really  so  forceful.  But 
the  imperfect  crown,  even  if  it  remain  so, 
must  be  enlarged  if  his  friends  can  prove,  in 

addition,  that  he  was  the  precursor  of  Poe. 
[30] 


The    Poe-Chivers    Controversy. 

VERY  few  people  to-day,  even  in  literary 
circles,  know  anything  about  Thomas  Hoi- 
ley  Olivers,  M.D.  And  even  these  know 
very  little.  He  was  a  poet  of  at  least  one 
book  before  Bryant  made  that  brief  anthol 
ogy  of  sixty  or  more  American  poets  in 
^40 — mostly  names  that  have  vanished 
long  since  into  the  everlasting  inane — but 
he  was  not  there  represented.  His  first 
volume  of  verse  appeared  in  1837;  though 
fugitive  lyrics  from  his  pen  were  doubtless 
afloat  on  the  periodical  seas  long  before 
that  year.  Poems  over  his  signature  were 
contributed  as  late  as  1853  to  Graham's 
Magazine  and  to  the  Waverley  Magazine  of 
Boston. 

It  is,  however,  simply  repeating  an  indu 
bitable  fact,  to  say  that  a  large  part  of  the 
[31] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


poetry  of  drivers  is  mainly  trash — of  no  ac 
count  whatever,  and  not  above  the  reams  of 
stanzas  which  from  time  immemorial  have 
decorated  as  "  original "  the  country  news 
paper's  poet's  corner.  But  now  and  then 
he  struck  a  note  quite  above  this  dead  and 
wide-pervading  commonplace;  and,  when 
ever  he  did,  the  verses  brought  forth  were 
apt  to  suggest  the  mechanism  and  flavor  of 
Poe.  He  not  only  said  at  various  times — 
especially  in  a  series  of  letters  which  he 
wrote  to  Mr.  Rufus  W.  Griswold,  Poe's 
biographer,  and  which  are  now  in  the  pos 
session  of  his  son  * — that  Poe  had  borrowed 
largely  from  him,  but  he  put  the  transac 
tion  in  much  bolder  terms.  The  charge  of 
flagrant  plagiarism  of  himself  by  Poe,  in 
respect  even  of  "  The  Raven  "  and  "  Anna 
bel  Lee,"  was  not  withheld,  but  was  vio 
lently  advanced  by  Chivers.  Nor  was  he 

*Mr.  W.  M.  Griswold,  of  Cambridge,  Mass.,  to 
whom  I  am  greatly  indebted  for  many  of  these 
facts. 

[32] 


The  Poe-Chivers  *  Controversy 

alone  in  making  this  charge.  Some  of  his 
friends  took  it  up  and  repeated  it  with  a 
vehemence  and  an  ability  worthy  of  a 
most  sacred  cause.  There  is  circumstance 
enough  about  this,  to  say  nothing  of  its 
singularity,  to  elevate  Chivers  into  some 
thing  of  a  topic — one  worth  considering  at 
least  for  a  leisure  moment. 

What  is  known  about  this  author  is,  that 
he  published  seven  or  eight  volumes  of 
poems  between,  and  inclusive  of,  1837  and 
1858 — a  period  of  twenty-one  years.  Many 
of  them  antedate  Poe's  period  of  literary 
activity,  and  not  a  few  have  the  Poe  afflatus 
and  melody  so  strongly  inherent  in  them 
that  even  the  non-critical  reader  could  not 
mistake  their  related  quality.  In  Chivers 's 
"Lily  Adair,"  which  crowns  his  high-water 
mark  of  poetic  achievement,  the  Poe  man 
ner  stands  out  conspicuously.  This  refrain 
from  it,  for  instance,  varied  in  some  details 
at  the  end  of  each  stanza,  illustrates  what  I 

mean : 

[33] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


"  In  her  chariot  of  fire  translated, 

Like  Elijah,  she  passed  through  the  air, 
To  the  city  of  God  golden-gated — 
The  home  of  my  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  star-crowned  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  God-loved  Lily  Adair — 
Of  my  beautiful,  dutiful  Lily  Adair." 

drivers,  in  this  poem,  and  in  others 
which  resemble  Poe's  work,  made  Biblical 
allusion  a  dominant  trait  to  an  extent  that 
Poe  did  not,  and  really  attained,  though 
not  always  with  perfect  sanity,  to  much  of 
Poe's  witchery  and  charm. 

It  is  not  my  intention  in  this  article  to 
repeat  the  history  and  evidence  which  I 
presented  and  published  elsewhere  a  few 
years  ago  concerning  drivers 's  claims 
against  Poe.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  the 
purpose  now  in  hand  if  I  report,  as  briefly 
as  may  be,  what  drivers  and  his  friends, 
and  those  who  antagonized  the  Chivers  as 
sumption,  had  to  say  about  it  nearly  fifty 
years  ago. 

In  a  quite  able  and  stalwart  way  Chivers 

[34] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

himself  opened  the  contest,  under  the  nom 
de plume  of  "Fiat  Justitia,"  in  the  Waverley 
Magazine  of  July  30,  1853.  In  a  long  arti 
cle,  entitled  "Origin  of  Poe's  '  Raven,'  "  he 
claims  that  the  laudators  of  Poe — particu 
larly  N.  P.  Willis,  who  said  of  "  The  Ra 
ven  "  that  it  "  electrified  the  world  of  imagi 
native  readers,  and  has  become  the  type  of 
a  school  of  poetry  of  its  own  " — "betray  not 
only  a  deplorable  ignorance  of  the  current 
literature  of  the  day,  but  the  most  abject 
poverty  of  mind  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
true  nature  of  poetry."  He  then  quotes 
from  his  own  book,  "The  Lost  Pleiad,"  the 
following  lines  from  the  poem  "  To  Allegra 
in  Heaven,"  which  was  published  in  1842, 
a  few  years  before  "The  Raven  "  appeared. 
He  asserts  that  these  lines  "  show  the  intel 
ligent  reader  the  true  and  only  source  from 
which  Poe  obtained  his  style "  in  that 
poem: 

"  Holy  angels  now  are  bending  to  receive  thy  soul 
ascending 

[35] 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


Up  to  Heaven  to  joys  unending,  and  to  bliss 

which  is  divine ; 
While  thy  pale  cold  form  is  fading  under  Death's 

dark  wings  now  shading 
Thee  with  gloom  which  is  pervading  this  poor 

broken  heart  of  mine ! 
And  as  God  doth  lift  the  spirit  up  to  Heaven  there 

to  inherit 
Those  rewards  which  it  doth  merit,   such  as 

none  have  reaped  before ; 
Thy  dear  father  will  to-morrow  lay  thy  body  with 

deep  sorrow, 

In  the  grave  which  is  so  narrow,  there  to  rest 
forevermore." 

In  this  article  Chivers  also  says  that  Poe 
is  not  entitled  to  priority  in  the  use  of  the 
refrain  "Nevermore."  It  was  Chivers,  he 
says  (still  writing  tinder  his  nom  de  plume) , 
who  originated  this  in  a  poem  entitled  "  La 
ment  on  the  Death  of  My  Mother,"  pub 
lished  in  1837  in  the  Middletown,  Conn., 
Sentinel  and  Witness.  The  following  extract 
from  it  is  the  proof  he  offers : 

"  Not  in  the  mighty  realms  of  human  thought, 

Nor  in  the  kingdom  of  the  earth  around ; 
Nor  where  the  pleasures  of  the  world  are  sought, 
Nor  where  the  sorrows  of  the  earth  are  found — 

[36] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

Nor  on  the  borders  of  the  great  deep  sea, 
Wilt  thou  return  again  from  heaven  to  me — 
No,  nevermore!" 

The  reader,  I  imagine,  will  be  likely  to 
think  that  Poe  gave  this  refrain  a  more 
potent  and  appealing  quality. 

It  is  urged  that  Poe  knew  of  Chivers's 
"The  Lost  Pleiad,  and  Other  Poems,"  as  he 
"spoke  of  it  in  the  highest  terms  in  the 
Broadway  Journal,  in  1845."  The  writer  ad 
mits  that  "  Poe  was  a  great  artist,  a  con 
summate  genius;  no  man  that  ever  lived 
having  possessed  a  higher  sense  of  the 
poetic  art  than  he  did."  But  he  urges  that 
this  fact  must  not  obliterate  the  other ;  viz. , 
that  he  took  the  liberty,  arrogated  by  gen 
ius,  to  borrow. 

After  saying  that  Chivers  (he  speaks  of 
himself  all  along  as  another  person)  was 
the  first  poet  to  make  the  trochaic  rhythm 
express  an  elegiac  theme,  and  the  first  to 
use  the  euphonic  alliteration  adopted  by 
Poe,  he  cites  the  following  extract  from  a 

[37] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


poem  of  his  published  before  Poe's  master 
piece  in  verse  appeared : 

""  As  an  egg,  when  broken,  never  can  be  mended, 

but  must  ever 
Be  the  same  crushed  egg  forever,  so  shall  this 

dark  heart  of  mine, 
Which,  though  broken,  is  still  breaking,  and  shall 

nevermore  cease  aching, 

For  the  sleep  which  has  no  waking — for  the 
sleep  which  now  is  thine ! " 

To  step  up  to  "  The  Raven  "  from  so  gro 
tesquely  low  a  level,  one  might  easily  con 
sider — even  were  the  charge  of  plagiarism 
proved — a  complete  absolution  of  blame. 

And,  if  this  is  admitted  to  be  the  foun 
tain  whence  Poe  got  his  form,  an  irreverent 
critic  might  say  he  reproduced  it  with  un 
surpassable  effect  and  dissociated  from  it 
the  atmosphere  of  Humpty-Dumpty. 

In  the  Waver  ley  Magazine  of  August  1 3th 
of  the  same  year,  "  Fiat  Justitia  "  (Chivers) 
is  taken  in  hand  by  "  H.  S.  C."  and  "J.  J. 
P.,"  on  behalf  of  Poe.  The  difference  in 

altitude   and  genius  of  the  two  writers  is 

[38] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

emphasized  by  them.  Poe's  personal  char 
acter  is  palliated ;  but  the  question  of  prior 
ity  in  the  use  of  the  Poe  alliterative  rhythm 
is  not  argued.  The  only  reply  touching 
this  is  by  the  first  of  the  two  writers,  who 
shows  that  "Nevermore,"  as  a  refrain,  is 
nobody's  trademark,  since  it  has  been  used 
even  earlier  than  Chivers's  employment  of 
it.  As  an  instance  buttressing  this  state 
ment,  he  offers  the  following  stanzas  from 
a  very  old  scrap-book  in  which  the  poem  of 
which  they  are  part  is  credited  to  the  Che 
shire,  England,  Herald: 

"  Now  the  holy  pansies  bloom 
Round  about  thy  lonely  tomb ; 
All  thy  little  woes  are  o'er; 
We  shall  meet  thee  here  no  more — 
Nevermore ! 

But  the  robin  loves  to  sing 
Near  thee  in  the  early  spring; 
Thee  his  song  will  cheer  no  more 
By  our  trellised  cottage  door — 

Nevermore ! " 

The  same  writer  asks  if  his  antagonist 

[39] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


cannot,  by  his  form  of  logic,  prove  that  Poe 
stole  his  poem  of  "The  Bells"  from  the 
nursery  rhyme  of  "Ding  Dong  Bell."  A 
week  later  than  this,  "  Fiat  Justitia  "  reap 
pears  in  the  Waverley  Magazine,  together 
•with  an  ally  signing  himself  "Felix  For- 
resti"  (possibly  Chivers  again*),  who,  see 
ing  him  attacked  by  two  knights  of  the 
pen,  "takes  up  the  cudgels"  for  Chivers. 
In  fact,  to  be  more  truthful,  all  these  writ 
ers —  speaking  metaphorically  —  take  up 
pitchforks  and  machetes.  Their  Billings 
gate  style  savors  of  the  Arizona  Howler,  and 
seems  impossible  to  Boston.  In  this  week's 
onslaught,  however,  no  point  of  note  occurs, 
except  that  the  latter  writer  exhumes  from 
a  poem  by  Chivers,  upon  Poe,  which  was 
published  in  the  Georgia  Citizen  about  1850, 
the  following  lines : 

*  That  an  author  could  so  write  of  himself,  under 
masked  signatures,  is  surprising.     But  the  articles 
were  substantially  made  up  from  his  letters  to  Mr. 
JR.  W.  Griswold,  Poe's  biographer. 
[40] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

41  Like  the  great  prophet  in  the  desert  lone, 
He  stood  here  waiting  for  the  golden  morning ; 
From  Death's  dark  vale  I  hear  his  distant  moan 
Coming  to  scourge  the  world  he  was  adorning — 
Scorning,  in  glory  now,  their  impotence  of  scorn 
ing." 

And  now  in  apotheosis  divine, 
He  stands  enthroned  upon  the  immortal  moun 
tains 

Of  God's  eternity,  forevermore  to  shine — 
Star-crowned,  all  purified  with  oil-anointings — 
Drinking  with   Ulalume  from   out    the   eternal 
fountains. 

And  the  writer  adds :  "  Until  both  .  .  .  cham 
pions  [of  Poe]  can  write  just  such  lines  as 
these,  they  had  better  '  shut  up  shop. ' ' 

But  neither  side  "shut  up  shop"  just 
then.  In  the  issue  of  September  loth, 
"Fiat  Justitia"  and  "J.  J.  P."  reappear. 
The  former  occupies  nearly  three  columns 
with  extracts  from  Chivers's  poems  to  show 
the  Poe  manner,  and  to  prove  that  it  was  in 
these  poems  Poe  found  it.  The  following 
sample  is  from  "  The  Lost  Pleiad  " : 

"  And  though  my  grief  is  more  than  vain, 
Yet  shall  I  never  cease  to  grieve ; 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


Because  no  more,  while  I  shall  live, 

Will  I  behold  thy  face  again ! 
No  more  while  I  have  life  or  breath, 

No  more  till  I  shall  turn  to  dust ! 
But  I  shall  see  thee  after  death, 

And  in  the  heavens  above  I  trust." 

The  following  extract  is  from  Chivers's 
"  Memoralia  " : 

"  I  shall  nevermore  see  pleasure, 
Pleasure  nevermore  but  pain — 
Pleasure,  losing  that  dear  treasure 
Whom  I  loved  here  without  measure, 
Whose  sweet  eyes  were  Heaven's  own  azure, 
Speaking,  mild,  like  sunny  rain ; 
I  shall  nevermore  see  pleasure 
For  his  coming  back  again ! " 

Of  "The  Lost  Pleiad"  volume,  "Fiat 
Justitia "  says  that  a  Cincinnati  reviewer 
declared,  some  years  ago,  that  "there  is 
nothing  in  the  wide  scope  of  literature, 
where  passion,  pathos,  and  pure  art  are 
combined,  more  touchingly  tender  than  this 
whole  unsurpassed  and  (in  our  opinion)  un 
surpassable  poem." 

Another    sample    of    Chivers's    pre-Poe 
[42] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

likeness  the  writer  finds  in  a  poem  titled 

"Ellen   -££yre,"   which   was  printed    in    a 

Philadelphia  paper  in   1836.  He  gives  this 
stanza  from  it : 

"  Like  the  Lamb's  wife,  seen  in  vision, 

Coming  down  from  heaven  above, 
Making  earth  like  Fields  Elysian, 

Golden  city  of  God's  love — 
Pure  as  jasper — clear  as  crystal — 

Decked  with  twelve  gates  richly  rare — 
Statued  with  twelve  angels  vestal — 

Was  the  form  of  Ellen  JEyre— 

Gentle  girl  so  debonair — 

Whitest,  brightest   of   all   cities,    saintly   angel, 
Ellen  JEyre." 

Very  many  other  Poe-resembling  ex 
tracts  are  given;  but  these  must  suffice 
from  the  verse.  To  show  that  Poe  bor 
rowed  from  Chivers  in  a  prose  criticism, 
our  writer  copies  the  following  passage 
from  an  article  by  Chivers  in  the  Atlanta 
Luminary : 

"  There  is  poetry  in  the  music  of  the  birds — in 
the  diamond  radiance  of  the  evening  star — in  the 
sun-illumined  whiteness  of  the  fleecy  clouds — in 
[43] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


the  open  frankness  of  the  radiant  fields — in  the 
soft,  retiring  mystery  of  the  vales — in  the  cloud- 
sustaining  grandeur  of  the  many-folded  hills — in 
the  revolutions  of  the  spheres — in  the  roll  of  rivers, 
and  the  run  of  rills." 

Now  look  on  this,  from  Poe's  "The 
Poetic  Principle  " : 

"  He  recognizes  the  ambrosia,  which  nourishes 
his  soul,  in  the  bright  orbs  that  shine  in  heaven 
...  in  the  waving  of  the  grain-fields — in  the  blue 
distance  of  mountains — in  the  grouping  of  clouds 
...  in  the  twinkling  of  the  half-hidden  brooks — 
in  the  gleaming  of  silver  rivers — in  the  repose  of 
sequestered  lakes — in  the  star-mirroring  depths  of 
lonely  wells  ...  in  the  song  of  birds — in  the  sigh 
ing  of  the  night-wind  ...  in  the  fresh  breath  of 
the  woods,  etc." 

Triumphantly  the  writer  says,  "  Now  .  .  . 
you  will  no  longer  wonder  where  Poe  ob 
tained  his  very  delightful  knowledge  of  the 
art  of  poetry."  Not  only  the  Chivers  prose 
extract,  but  also  the  verse  passages  quoted 
by  him  were  written,  he  affirms,  "  long  an 
terior  "  to  the  parallel  passages  in  Poe. 

In  the    Waver  ley  of  September  24th  fol- 

[44] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

lowing,  "  J.  J.  P."  quotes  Poe  as  saying  of 
"The  Raven,"  "I  pretend  to  no  originality 
in  either  the  rhythm  or  metre."  He  also 
quotes  Poe  as  saying  of  the  passage  by 
Chivers  containing  the  egg  simile:  ".That 
the  lines  very  narrowly  missed  sublimity  we 
will  grant ;  that  they  came  within  a  step  of 
it  we  admit;  but,  unhappily,  the  step  is 
that  one  step  which,  time  out  of  mind,  has 
intervened  between  the  sublime  and  the 
ridiculous." 

The  whole  controversy  was  continued 
with  warmth  in  the  Waverley  Magazine  of 
October  i,  1853,  by  "Fiat  Justitia,"  who 
began  it.  But  I  am  told,  too,  that  it  was 
reopened  in  a  later  volume.  As  the  Maga 
zine  office  files  were  long  ago  destroyed  by 
fire,  I  cannot  say  how  the  renewed  contro 
versy  fared ;  though  it  probably  closed  with 
nothing  fresher  than  new  epithets  coined 
by  the  combatants.  Nor  is  anything  that  is 
particularly  new  added  by  this  article.  It 
was  mainly  a  threshing  of  the  old  straw, 

[45] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


which,  all  the  way  through,  was  supple 
mented  by  a  rhythm  analysis  that  would 
take  too  much  space  to  follow.  From  the 
Chivers  poem  "  To  Allegra  in  Heaven  "  he 
adduces  this  heretofore  unquoted  line, 

"  Like  some  snow-white  cloud  just  under  Heaven 
some  breeze  has  torn  asunder  " — 

which  he  thinks  suggested  Poe's  two  lines: 

"And  the  silken,  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each 
purple  curtain  " — 

"  Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  dis 
course  so  plainly." 

Chivers,  it  seems,  wrote  for  a  variety  of 
periodicals,  among  which  were  Graham  s 
Magazine  and  Peterson's;  and  in  the  year 
this  controversy  was  raging  he  contributed 
poems  to  the  Waver  ley  Magazine  itself.  In 
"Fiat  Justitia's"  contention,  it  is  said  that 
Poe  was  obliged  to  reply  in  the  Broadway 
Journal,  in  defence  of  the  plagiaristic 
charge,  to  some  writer  using  somewhere 

the  nom  de  plume  of  "Outis."     There  was, 

[46] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

in  connection  with  the  Chivers  assumption 
and  advocacy,  a  surprisingly  earnest  and 
hot  assault.  Only  one  more  of  these  mili 
tant  articles  (possibly  by  Chivers  again) 
shall  I  notice  here.  He,  signing  himself 
"  Philo  Veritas  "  in  the  Waver  ley  Magazine 
of  October  8th,  1853,  communicates  a 
"Railroad  Song"  taken  from  Graham's, 
which  was  written  by  Chivers,  and  which 
he  terms  "  a  truly  original  poem."  He  does 
so  in  part  for  the  purpose  of  "  exposing  one 
of  the  most  pitiful  plagiarisms  "  known — 
the  "wishy-washy  thing"  entitled  "Rail 
road  Lyric,"  that  had  appeared  in  Putnam's 
Monthly  of  the  previous  May.  Here  are 
some  lines  from  the  one  hundred  and  thir 
teen  composing  Chivers 's  poem: 

"  All  aboard !     Yes !     Tingle,  tingle, 
Goes  the  bell  as  we  all  mingle — 
No  one  sitting  solely  single — 
As  the  steam  begins  to  fizzle — 
With  a  kind  of  sighing  sizzle — 
Ending  in  a  piercing  whistle — 

'[47] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


And  the  cars  begin  to  rattle, 
And  the  springs  go  tittle-tattle — 
Driving  off  the  grazing  cattle, 
As  if  Death  were  Hell  pursuing 
To  his  uttermost  undoing, 
Down  the  iron  road  to  ruin — 
With  a  clitter,  clatter,  clatter, 
Like  the  Devil  beating  batter 
Up  in  Hell  in  iron  platter, 
As  if  something  was  the  matter; 
Then  it  changes  to  a  clanking, 
And  a  clinking  and  a  clanking, 
And  a  clanking  and  a  clinking — 

As  if  Hell  for  our  damnation, 
Had  come  down  with  desolation 
•  •  •  i  •  • 

While  the  engine  overteeming 

With  excruciating  screaming, 

Spits  his  vengeance  out  in  steaming. 

Still  repeating  clitter,  clatter 
Clitter,  clatter,  clitter,  clatter 
As  if  something  was  the  matter — 
While  the  woodlands  all  are  ringing, 
And  the  birds  forget  their  singing, 
And  away  to  Heaven  go  winging. 
«••••• 
Then  returns  again  to  clatter 
Clitter,  clatter,  clitter,  clatter 
[48] 


The  Poe-Chivers   Controversy 


Like  the  Devil  beating  batter 
Up  in  Hell  in  iron  platter — 
Which  subsides  into  a  clankey, 
And  a  clinkey  and  a  clankey 
And  a  clankey  and  a  clinkey 
And  a  clinkey,  clankey,  clankey — 
Then  to  witchey,  witchey,  witchey, 
Chewey-witchey,  chewey-witchey — 
Chewey-witchey,  witchey,  witchey, 
Then  returns  again  to  fizzle, 
With  a  kind  of  sighing  sizzle — 
Ending  in  a  piercing  whistle — 
And  the  song  that  I  now  offer 
For  Apollo's  golden  coffer — 
With  the  friendship  that  I  proffer- 
Is  for  riding  on  a  Rail." 

There  was  one  poem  of  drivers 's,  entitled 
"The  Little  Boy  Blue,"  copied  in  the  Wa- 
verley  Magazine,  which  is  singularly  satu 
rated  with  the  nomenclature  and  manner 
that  Poe  affected.  Here  are  a  few  illustra 
tive  stanzas  out  of  the  thirty-seven  to  which 
it  extended : 

41  The  little  boy  blue 

Was  the  boy  that  was  born 
In  the  forests  of  Dew 

On  the  Mountains  of  Morn. 
...... 

[49] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


There  the  pomegranate  bells — 
They  were  made  to  denote 

How  much  music  now  dwells 
In  the  nightingale's  throat. 

On  the  green  banks  of  On, 

By  the  city  of  No, 
There  he  taught  the  wild  swan 

Her  white  bugle  to  blow. 

Where  the  cherubims  rode 

On  four  lions  of  gold, 
There  this  cherub  abode 

Making  new  what  was  old. 

When  the  angels  came  down 

To  the  shepherds  at  night, 
Near  to  Bethlehem  Town 

Clad  in  garments  of  light, 
There  the  little  Boy  Blue 

Blew  aloud  on  his  horn, 
Songs  as  soft  as  the  dew 

From  the  Mountains  of  Morn. 


But  another  bright  place 
I  would  stop  to  declare, 

For  the  Angel  of  the  Face 
Of  Jehovah  was  there. 

[50] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

Now  this  happy  soul  dwells 
Where  the  waters  are  sweet, 

Near  the  Sevenfold  Wells 
Made  by  Jesus's  feet." 

Not  only  are  the  Poe  phrases  here,  but 
here,  too,  is  the  tossing,  tumultuous  imagi 
nation  of  William  Blake.  I  know  of  no 
writer  who,  so  much  as  Chivers  did,  fell 
into  Blake's  phantasmagorial  extravagance. 

The  upshot  of  this  cursory  consideration 
of  the  voluminous  controversy — beginning 
before  Poe  died,  and  virulently  continued 
for  some  years  after  his  death — shows  that 
Poe  knew  Chivers's  work  and  paid  attention 
to  him  in  more  than  one  reference.  The 
literary  representatives  of  the  minor  poet 
appear,  also,  to  bring  forward  some  strik 
ing  examples  of  verse  which  he  wrote, 
which  was  outwardly  like  Poe's,  and  which 
considerably  antedated  "The  Bells,"  "The 
Raven,"  and  "Annabel  Lee,"  on  which 
Poe's  poetic  fame  rests. 

What   conclusion    must   be   drawn   from 
[51] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


these  facts?  Each  reader  will  be  certain  to 
make  his  own.  No  critic  will  doubt  that  to 
Poe  belonged  the  wonderful  magic  and 
mastery  of  this  species  of  song.  If  to  him 
who  says  a  thing  best  the  thing  belongs,  no 
one  will  hesitate  to  decide  that  Poe  is  en 
titled  to  the  bays  which  crown  him.  It  is  a 
fact  that,  with  all  the  contemporary  airing 
of  the  subject,  it  is  Poe's  celebrity  and  not 
Chivers's  that  remains.  The  finer  instinct 
and  touch  are  what  the  world  takes  account 
of.  Chivers,  except  at  rare  intervals,  did 
not  approach  near  enough  to  the  true  alti 
tude.  He  put  no  boundary  between  what 
was  grotesque  and  what  was  inspired.  He 
was  too  short-breathed  to  stay  poised  on  the 
heights,  and  was  but  accidentally  poetic. 
But  we  may  accord  him  a  single  leaf  of 
laurel,  if  no  more,  for  what  he  came  so  near 
achieving  in  the  musical  lyric  of  "  Lily 
Adair."  Truly  enough  Shakespeare  says: 

"  The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact  .  .  ." 
[52] 


The  Poe-Chivers  Controversy 

Their  mental  and  spiritual  territories  inter- 
blend.  The  same  frenzy  is  the  endowment 
of  each — as  charcoal  is  in  essence  the  dia 
mond.  As  you  differentiate  and  develop  it 
you  make  your  titular  distinction  and  place. 
But  it  is  not  a  small  thing  to  have  been 
mingled  in  some  slight  association  with 
genius,  and  to  have  some  credit  you  with 
it.  In  an  Oriental  poem  the  clay  pipe 
speaks  of  its  contentment,  since  it  cannot 
be  a  rose,  of  having,  by  a  fortunate  associa 
tion,  attained  to  some  of  the  rose's  fra 
grance. 


Poe's  Opinion  of  «  The  Raven." 

THERE  seems  to  be  no  end  of  interest  in 
Poe  legends  and  Poeana.  Poe  is  the  one 
American  poet — Whitman,  perhaps,  being 
a  second — whose  work  has  produced  a  cult ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  exercises  a  fascina 
tion  which  is  contagious  and  indescribable. 
Some  might  possibly  call  it  hypnotic.  He 
uses  what  Emerson  calls  "  polarized  words  " ; 
and,  while  they  haunt  the  mind,  and  even 
the  very  soul  of  the  reader,  they  virtually 
•create  an  atmosphere  as  distinct  as  that — 
though  not  like  that — in  one  of  Corot's 
landscapes. 

Poe  contributed  little  to  human  thought. 
He  had  no  ethical  message  whatever  to  de 
liver.  He  could  not  have  written  Words 
worth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Human 
Immortality " — which  is  as  pious,  though 
not  burdensomely  so,  as  it  is  poetic.  What 

[54] 


Poe's  Opinion  of  "The  Raven " 

his  poetry  is,  is  not  what  Matthew  Arnold 
defined  poetry  to  be — "a  criticism  of  life." 
It  is  more  like  a  series  of  musical  diversions 
— fluent,  sensuous,  weird,  sorrowful,  and 
sepulchral,  even  subterranean  almost  in 
passages.  But  what  differentiates  it  most 
specifically  is,  that  it  is  sensuous.  It 
moves  no  one  to  do  anything;  it,  on  the 
contrary,  makes  you  feel  something.  In 
reading  it  you  mourn  for  a  vanished  Aiden 
or  a  lost  Lenore. 

It  is  a  curious  fame  that  rests  so  much 
upon  so  little — at  least,  upon  so  small  a 
body  of  work.  For,  if  you  take  "The  Ra 
ven,"  "Annabel  Lee,"  and  "The  Bells" 
from  Poe's  poems — if  you  do  not  consider 
these  at  all — what  would  his  poetic  fame 
have  been?  Could  it  have  been  very 
great? 

But  with  these  poems  he  did  undoubtedly 
put  an  imprint  on  the  literature  of  his  day 
and  time  that  is  matchless.  Its  influence 

is,  at  any  rate,  a  more  potent  force  in  Eng- 
[55 1 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


land  and  France  than  any  other  poet  of  our 
nation  has  yet  attained  to.  Perhaps  the 
weird  and  eerie  has  naturally  upon  the  hu 
man  mind  a  more  durable  and  clinging  hold 
than  the  things  that  are  sober  and  earthly. 
However  this  may  be,  "The  Raven  "  alone, 
as  a  poem,  seems  to  go  on  in  people's  minds 
with  a  constant  crescendo  of  admiration 
from  one  year  and  generation  to  another. 

We  get  a  good  deal  from  time  to  time 
about  the  way  it  was  composed.  Persons 
who  knew  Poe,  and  those  who  have  heard 
orally  from  them  what  he  said,  have  given 
us  many  edifying  stories  concerning  Poe's 
life  at  the  time  this  poem  was  written,  and 
the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  com 
posed. 

There  are  but  two  American  poems  that 
I  can  think  of  whose  bringing  forth  has 
been  talked  of  anywhere  near  so  much  as 
this  poem's  birth  has  been,  if  any  other 
than  these  three  have  been  talked  of  in  this 

respect  at  all.     The  two  I  allude  to  are,  of 
[56] 


Poe's  Opinion  of  "The  Raven" 

course,  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis  "  and  Long 
fellow's  "Excelsior." 

Does  anybody  remember,  though — but 
this  is  an  "aside" — that  Emerson's  "Hum 
ble  Bee "  when  it  first  appeared  opened 
thus? 

"  Fine  Humble  Bee, 
Fine  Humble  Bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me," 

instead  of — in  the  vastly  improved  version — 

"  Burly,  dozing  Humble  Bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me." 

How  those  two  new  adjectives,  encyclo 
pedic  almost  in  their  bottled  essence  of  de 
scription,  and  displacing  "fine,"  strength 
ened  the  piece!  But  you  will  find,  in  the 
very  first  edition  of  Dana's  "  Household 
Book  of  Poetry,"  that  the  poem  is  printed 
in  the  first  fashion — as  it  stood  I  suppose  in 
"The  Dial,"  before  it  was  revised  for 
Emerson's  first  volume  of  verses. 

But  I  must  return  to  Poe  and  "  The  Ra 
ven."  The  brief  story  I  have  to  tell  about 

[57] 


In  the   Poe  Circle 


them  I  got  orally  from  an  author  who  once 
had  some  vogue,  but  who  is  now  nearly 
completely  forgotten.  His  name  was  at 
one  time  in  many  of  our  best  periodicals; 
and  the  old  Democratic  Review  once  had  a 
considerable  critique  upon  his  poetic  posi 
tion  and  promise.  He  was  likened  by  the 
writer  of  the  review  article  to  Shelley  and 
Keats ;  and  there  were  passages  of  his  verse 
given  which  brought  out,  as  I  remember,  a 
considerable  of  the  suggested  resemblance. 
Probably,  though,  his  poem  of  "  The  Sword 
of  Bunker  Hill  " — which  was  set  to  music — 
best  typifies  his  prevailing  poetic  style, 
which  was,  in  the  main,  noted  for  being 
eloquent  and  patriotic. 

William  Ross  Wallace  (for  it  is  he  to 
whom  I  refer)  was  not  unlike  Poe  in  both 
temperament  and  habits.  He  was  not  a  lit 
tle  like  him  in  physique — in  brightness  of 
the  eye,  and  in  a  superb  courtliness  of  man 
ner.  He  had  the  same,  or  a  similar,  irreso 
lute  will ;  but  he  was  a  delightful  compan- 

[58] 


Poe's  Opinion  of  "  The  Raven " 

ion  to  meet  if  you  met  him  at  the  right 
time.  He  was,  I  believe,  a  Southerner  by 
birth,  as  Poe  was  by  acclimation. 

Wallace  told  me  (in  the  early  war-time 
when  I  first  met  him)  that  he  knew  Poe 
tolerably  well.  They  were,  he  said,  on 
pleasant  and  familiar  terms ;  and,  it  would 
seem  (as  Keats  and  Reynolds  did),  they 
read  over  to  each  other  their  not  yet  pub 
lished  poetical  work.  It  was  in  obedience 
to  this  habit  that  Poe,  on  meeting  Wallace 
one  day,  told  him  in  some  such  words  as 
these  (I  will  be  sponsor  now  only  for  their 
substance,  and  not  for  their  form,  or  for  the 
form  of  the  colloquy  between  the  known 
and  the  now-unknown  poet) : 

"Wallace,"  said  Poe,  "  I  have  just  written 
the  greatest  poem  that  ever  was  written." 

"  Have  you?  "  said  Wallace.  " That  is  a 
fine  achievement." 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  it?  "  said  Poe. 

"Most  certainly,"  said  Wallace. 

Thereupon  Poe  began  to  read  the  so  to-be 

[59] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


famous  verses  in  his  best  way — which  I  be 
lieve  was  always  an  impressive  and  capti 
vating  way.  When  he  had  finished  he 
turned  to  Wallace  for  his  approval  of  them 
— when  Wallace  said : 

"Poe — they  are  fine;  uncommonly  fine." 

"Fine?"  said  Poe,  contemptuously.  "Is 
that  all  you  can  say  for  this  poem?  I  tell 
you  it's  the  greatest  poem  that  was  ever 
written." 

And  then  they  separated — not,  however, 
before  Wallace  had  tried  to  placate,  with 
somewhat  more  pronounced  praise,  the  pet 
tish  poet. 

And  to-day  there  are  critics  who  say — not 
knowing  Poe's  own  opinion  of  "The  Ra 
ven  " — that  it  is  "  the  greatest  poem  ever 
written."  Whether  it  is  or  not,  it  bids  fair 
to  be  the  one  that  will  be  the  most  and  the 
longest  talked  about. 


[60] 


THOMAS     HOLLEY     CHIVERS 


Thomas  Holley  Chivers. 

UNTIL  a  recent  date  it  has  been  difficult 
to  give  any  definite  or  detailed  account  of 
Chivers,  the  eccentric  Southern  poet.  The 
few  relatives  and  friends  of  the  author — 
and  he  was  quite  a  voluminous  author,  for 
a  poet — have  not  been  aware  that  there  was 
much  popular  interest  in  him;  or  else,  for 
reasons  of  their  own,  they  have  not  wished 
to  gratify  this  curiosity  as  to  his  life.  His 
name  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  biographical 
cyclopedia,  though  it  is  mentioned  in  Alli- 
bone's  "Dictionary  of  Authors,"  a  book 
that  limits  its  function  mainly  to  titles  and 
names. 

When  Appleton's  "Cyclopedia  of  Ameri 
can  Biography  "  was  being  compiled,  a  few 
years  ago,  the  editors  were  unable  to  find 

enough  facts  about  Chivers  to  warrant  the 
[61] 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


insertion  of  even  a  short  paragraph.  All 
that  a  limited  number  of  literary  men  knew 
about  him  was  that  such  a  man  had  been 
born  early  in  the  century ;  that  he  was  of  a 
Southern  family,  but  had  spent  some  time 
in  New  England;  that  he  was  a  physician 
in  full  standing ;  and  finally — a  fact  of  more 
interest  and  importance — that  he  wrote 
lyrics  which,  when  he  employed  his  best 
style,  were  strangely  like  Poe's.  Added  to 
this  piquant  revelation  was  the  strong  as 
sertion  of  himself,  and  of  competent  and 
distinguished  persons,  that  his  style  was 
not  borrowed  from  Poe,  but  that  it  ap 
peared  prior  to  Poe's  characteristic  work, 
and  therefore  set  the  pace  by  which  Poe 
became  famous ;  giving  the  suggestion  from 
which  grew  the  latter's  mystic  fascination. 
To  be  brought  into  relations  like  these 
may  not  constitute  fame,  but  it  is  a  sort  of 
second  cousin  to  it,  and  must  always  beget 
an  alluring  interest  in  the  author  who  came 
so  near  to  a  high  goal. 

[62] 


Thomas  Holley  Chivers 


The  facts  which  the  reviewer  now  finds 
at  his  disposal  are  due  in  great  measure  to 
Mr.  John  Quincy  Adams,  of  Washington, 
Ga.,  a  relative  of  Chivers,  and  himself  a 
writer  of  skill  and  vigor.  The  father  of 
the  poet  was  Col.  Robert  Chivers,  who  had 
three  sons  and  four  daughters.  Thomas 
Holley,  the  eldest,  was  born  in  1807,  two 
years  before  Poe,  at  Digby  Manor,  a  few 
miles  south  of  Washington,  Ga.  His  pro 
genitors  were  English  on  both  sides,  and 
settled  originally  in  Virginia.  On  the 
mother's  side  the  name  was  Digby,  her  an 
cestors  having  been  prominent  in  England 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

Mr.  Adams  states  that  Colonel  Chivers 
was  a  rich  planter  and  mill-owner.  Recog 
nizing  the  genius  of  his  son,  he  became 
over-indulgent  to  him,  so  that  the  young 
man  was  imbned  with  a  full  sense  of  his 
own  importance.  He  graduated  with  dis 
tinction  in  medicine  at  Transylvania,  now 
[63] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


the  University  of  Kentucky,  in  or  about 
1828.  The  statement  which  has  been  made 
that  he  was  a  graduate  of  Yale  is  erroneous. 
"  He  cared  only  for  the  scientific  cult  of  his 
profession,"  Mr.  Adams  says,  "though  to 
the  day  of  his  death  he  never  failed  to  serve 
gratis  those  too  poor  to  hire  a  doctor. 
After  a  few  years'  practice  he  chose  litera 
ture  as  an  occupation,  and  having  always 
abundant  means  for  his  solitary  and  tem 
perate  life,  he  lived  and  died  in  the  pride 
of  his  intellectuality.  He  despised  all 
mere  pretense  toward  scholarship.  Among 
ordinary  people  he  was  a  most  '  unclub- 
bable  '  man,  but  among  his  equals  he  was  a 
charming  companion." 

His  correspondence  discloses  the  fact 
that  he  was  held  in  high  esteem,  and  that 
he  was  an  authority  on  a  wide  range  of 
subjects,  particularly  the  Hebrew  language 
and  literature.  Many  of  these  letters,  now 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Adams,  were  writ 
ten  by  men  of  note  to  Chivers,  and  among 
[64] 


Thomas  Holley  Chivers 


them  is  one  by  Poe  himself,  pathetic  with 
lament,  mentioning  the  Stylus,  which  he 
intended  to  start  and  of  which  so  much  has 
been  written.  In  this  Poe  says:  "Please 
lend  me  $50  for  three  months — I  am  so 
poor  and  friendless  I  am  half  distracted; 
but  I  shall  be  all  right  when  you  and  I  start 
our  magazine. "  (It  was  $500  for  which  Poe 
had  asked  Halleck  when  he  started  the 
Broadway  Journal.} 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five  Chivers  went 
North  to  live,  shortly  afterward  marrying 
Miss  Harriet  Hunt,  who  is  described  as 
having  been  a  woman  of  great  beauty. 
Four  children  were  born  to  them.  The 
tragical  fact  is  mentioned  that  these  chil 
dren  were  all  carried  off  by  a  virulent  form 
of  typhoid  fever  while  the  family  was  stay 
ing  at  Digby  Manor.  A  son  and  two 
daughters  were  afterward  born  and  grew 
up.  When  the  son  died,  his  four  children 
were  adopted  by  his  second  sister,  Mrs. 
Isabel  Brown,  now  living  in  Decatur,  Ga. 

[65] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


The  other  daughter,  Mrs.  Potter,  lives  in 
Connecticut. 

In  1856  Chivers  returned  to  the  South 
and  made  his  final  home  in  Decatur.  A 
physiological  professorship  in  a  medical 
college  in  Savannah  was  offered  him,  but 
his  health  was  impaired,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  decline  the  appointment.  Mr. 
Adams  mentions  that  he  was  a  painter,  and 
that  he  made  frequent  portraits  of  his  fam 
ily.  He  also  made  some  notable  pen-and- 
ink  sketches.  He  appears  to  have  had  an 
inventive  turn  of  mind  as  well,  for  he  origi 
nated  a  machine  for  unwinding  the  fibre 
from  silk  cocoons,  a  device  of  so  much 
merit  that  it  received  a  silver  cup  at  one  of 
the  Southern  expositions. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  recall  the  fact  that 
the  poet's  library,  being  on  the  line  of 
Sherman's  march  to  the  sea,  was  destroyed 
or  confiscated,  and  that  all  his  manuscripts 
were  more  or  less  injured.  This  was  after 
Chivers's  death,  which  occurred  at  Decatur f 

[66] 


Thomas  Holley  Chivers 


December  i8th,  1858.  His  demise  received 
wide  notice  in  the  North,  and  the  breadth 
of  his  territory  of  renown  among  scholars  is 
indicated  by  the  fact  that  Professor  Gier- 
low,  a  Danish  author,  wrote  a  beautiful 
poem  on  the  event. 

William  Gilmore  Simms,  at  that  time  one 
of  the  greatest  names  in  Southern  litera 
ture,  took  much  interest  in  Chivers,  and 
called  him  "the  wild  Mazeppa  of  letters." 
He  frequently  rallied  his  friend  on  his 
choice  of  strange  words  and  on  "the  mo 
notony  of  his  sorrow."  In  good-humored 
retaliation,  no  doubt,  the  doctor  advised 
Simms  to  cease  writing  stupid  novels  and 
"take  up  literature  as  a  pleasure." 

Chivers's  face  was  of  poetic  cast.  The 
fine  lines  of  the  mouth  alone  gave  it  dis 
tinction,  and  the  intent,  piercing  eye  and 
dark,  flowing  hair,  as  well  as  the  contour  of 
the  head,  with  its  massive  forehead,  com 
pleted  an  intellectual  ensemble  at  least 
competent  for  fame. 
[67] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


The  pathetic  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter  of  his  life  and  work  is  embodied  in 
the  one  word  "almost."  He  did  not  quite 
touch  the  high  and  ambitious  empyrean  at 
which  he  aimed.  There  were  great  visions 
before  him,  but  he  could  not  put  them  into 
perfectly  clarified  expression.  At  times  he 
nearly  found  the  vehicle  of  words  that  up 
lifts  us,  but  some  lack  of  needed  impulse  or 
finish,  some  want  of  surrounding  atmos 
phere,  or  some  other  partial  defect,  tells 
the  story  of  defeat.  But  there  is  room 
enough  for  a  hospitable  memory  of  him,  and 
reason  enough  to  honor  his  daring.  We 
may  put  him  at  least  in  the  Poe  rubric,  and 
recall,  in  exalting  Poe,  a  few  of  the  typical 
attributes  which  gave  Chivers  his  place  in 
poetry. 


[68] 


Baudelaire    and   Poe:     A   Brief 
Parallel. 

IF  we  except  Boetie  and  Montaigne,  who 
were  distinct  contemporaries  and  personal 
friends,  one  may  search  very  far  through 
literary  annals  to  find  two  writers  with 
closer  affinities  of  thought  than  Baudelaire 
and  Poe.  The  French  author  seems  to 
have  been  born  to  celebrate  and  continue 
the  Poesque  aroma  and  effluence. 

Not  merely  their  tastes  and  manner  were 
alike;  their  careers,  too,  have  close  resem 
blances.  Poe  was  born  in  1809,  and  his 
French  admirer  in  1821— a  dozen  years 
later.  Baudelaire's  father  dying  when  the 
son  was  but  six  years  old  placed  him  very 
soon  under  new  control.  He  found  himself, 
the  year  after  this  event,  under  the  rule  of 
a  stepfather.  It  is  said  this  foster-parent, 
[69] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


who  was  Colonel  Aupick,  was  proud  of  his 
stepson,  but  wished  to  give  him  a  military 
career.  The  determination  on  the  boy's 
part  to  be  a  poet  was,  however,  dominant ; 
and  this  collision  of  plans  may  have  stirred 
him  to  the  irregularities  that  followed,  and 
led  to  his  expulsion  from  college. 

An  English  writer  said  some  years  ago 
that  Colonel  Aupick,  having  been  promoted 
to  a  general's  position,  could  have  given  his 
stepson  a  rapid  advancement  if  he  had  been 
willing  to  join  the  army;  but,  "to  the  im 
mense  surprise  of  his  parents,"  he  would 
not.  Nothing  should  win  him  but  the  pro 
fession  of  letters. 

"The  young  man  hated  his  stepfather, 
the  reasons  he  gave  for  his  hatred  being 
that  he  was  his  stepfather,  that  he  was  very 
demonstrative,  and  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
literature."  One  must  see  how  nearly  like 
Mr.  Allan's  attitude  to  Poe  this  situation 
proved  to  be. 

Baudelaire  flew  to  Paris  from  his  home 
[70] 


Baudelaire  and  Poe 


in  Lyons,  and  was  charmed  with  its  literary 
circle  and  "the  magic"  of  his  new  world. 
"  He  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with  Bal 
zac,"  says  Esme  Stuart,  "and  set  up  as  a 
1  dandy. '  '  In  the  mean  time  he  was  work 
ing  hard;  "but  when  barely  twenty  years 
old  his  mother  interfered,  and,  enforcing 
her  legal  authority,  sent  him  to  India  in  or 
der  to  separate  him  from  his  evil  surround 
ings."  Within  ten  months  he  would  tole 
rate  exile  no  longer,  and  returned  suddenly 
to  Paris. 

The  writer  who  gives  this  account  says : 
"  His  absence  must  have  helped  to  give  him 
greater  mastery  over  English,  which  lan 
guage  in  after  years  was  to  bring  him  to 
the  knowledge  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe.  When 
the  poet's  majority  arrived,  he  found  him 
self  with  .£3,000  in  his  pocket  and  delivered 
from  parental  authority.  Then  began  his 
unfettered  bachelor  life.  He  determined, 
if  possible,  to  be  something — to  aim  at  per 
fection  ;  but  the  taste  for  beautiful  pictures 
[71] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


and  antique  furniture  led  him  into  extrava 
gance  little  in  accordance  with  his  means." 

Through  a  dealer  more  shrewd  than  hon 
est,  he  was  saddled  with  a  burden  of  in 
debtedness  that  saddened  his  remaining 
years.  With  debts  and  a  vacant  pocket- 
book  he  could  feel  the  position  as  well  as 
he  could  absorb  the  poetry  of  Poe.  It  is  a 
singular  double  parable  that  his  career  pre 
sents  ;  for  he  had  on  his  creative  and  un 
worldly  side  the  dainty  taste  and  musical 
charm  of  his  model.  The  torment  for  at 
taining  perfection  was  his  in  a  marvellous 
degree.  Mr.  Stuart  describes  him  as  "al 
ways  touching  and  retouching  his  verses, 
«ver  consumed  by  the  passion  for  style, 
which  to  the  ordinary  public  is  merely  an 
insane  mania." 

Like  Poe,  he  required  moods  for  his 
work.  He  was  a  critic  and  art  lover  too. 
In  dress,  and  in  a  multitude  of  ways,  he 
had  marked  idiosyncrasies.  He  sympa 
thized  with  democracy ;  and  for  a  time  was 
[72] 


Baudelaire  and  Poe 


somewhat  demonstrative  against  aristocratic 
ways.  The  revolution  of  1848  was  in  the 
air,  and  it  touched  "his  impressionable 
brain." 

He  was  unfortunate  in  titling  a  collection 
of  his  poems  " Fleurs  du  Mai"  He  claimed 
to  show  that  evil  was  not  wholly  without  its 
better  side,  and  that  good  is  in  some  mys 
terious  manner  related  to  the  whole  scheme 
of  things.  It  is  an  attitude  not  so  unfamil 
iar  in  France  as  it  is  in  England  and  Amer 
ica.  Victor  Hugo  praised  the  play  of  his 
art  by  saying:  "  Art  is  like  the  azure — it  is 
an  infinite  field,  and  you  have  just  proved 
it." 

Good  as  his  work  was  in  the  sense  of  form 
and  art,  he  had  his  struggle  with  editors,  as 
Poe  did.  For  work  far  more  excellent  than 
journalism  could  show  or  than  editors  de 
manded  he  could  only  obtain  the  low  rates 
of  the  journalistic  craft.  He  was  a  frequent 
wanderer  "  in  out-of-the-way  places,  looking 
worn,  wan,  and  shabby."  "No  wonder," 
[73] 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


says  Mr.  Stuart,  whose  condensed  account 
of  him  is  most  graphic,  "that  more  than 
ever  Edgar  Poe  seemed  to  him  his  twin 
brother  of  misfortune."  He  at  last  "had 
recourse  to  stimulants,"  to  put  the  real 
away  from  his  vision.  To  Belgium  he  hur 
ried  in  despair,  and  from  that  country  writes 
thus: 

"Think  what  I  suffer  in  a  place  where 
the  trees  are  black  and  the  flowers  are  with 
out  scent,  and  where  no  conversation  worth 
the  name  can  be  heard.  You  might  go  all 
over  Belgium  and  not  find  a  soul  that 
speaks." 

He  longs  for  his  mother,  "  who  takes  such 
care  not  to  reproach  me."  In  truth,  says 
this  chronicler,  "she  was  another  Mrs. 
Clemm,  and  the  sick  man,  remembering 
his  childhood,  longed  for  her  care  and  sym 
pathy."  Not  happy  with  publishers,  or  in 
being  able  to  secure  a  sufficient  hope  or  re 
ward  for  his  works,  he  fell  ill.  His  death, 
through  brain  paralysis,  was  equal  in  its 

[74] 


Baudelaire  and  Poe 


tragedy  to  Poe's — if  it  did  not  surpass  that 
unfortunate  poet's  ending. 

I  have  not  chosen  to  dwell  upon  the  moral 
side  of  Baudelaire's  work.  There  is  no  room 
in  these  notes  for  a  literary  parallel  to  do 
more  than  mark  that.  And  how  striking 
and  singular  a  one  it  is!  Baudelaire  does 
not  deny  that  he  echoed  at  times,  whether 
consciously  or  otherwise,  Poe's  thoughts. 
He  also  gave  a  large  portion  of  his  work 
to  make  Poe  more  widely  known.  Four  of 
his  eight  volumes  are  "  consecrated  to  Poe  " 
and  his  writings. 

The  two  affinities  never  met,  and  it  is  not 
certain  that  Baudelaire's  name  was  one  with 
which  Poe  was  ever  acquainted.  Edgar  Al 
lan  Poe  died  in  1 849,  aged  forty,  and  Charles 
Baudelaire  in  1867,  aged  forty-six  years. 


In  the  Poe  Circle 


v.. 


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In  the  Poe   Circle 


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[79] 


Bibliography 

A  Selected  List  of  Magazine  Articles  Refer 
ring  to  Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  his  Work 

POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN.     Eel.  Mag.,  1858. 

Eel.  Mag.,  1852. 

—  Eel.  Mag.,  1875. 

.  Eel.  Mag.,  1880. 

J.  H.  Ingram,  Internal,  Rev.,  1875. 

The  Raven,  Liv.  Age,  1845. 

Liv.  Age,  1850. 

Liv.  Age,  1852. 

Liv.  Age,  1854. 

.  Liv.  Age,  1857. 

Liv.  Age,  1858. 

Liv.  Age,  1880. 

P.  P.  Cooke,  So.  Lit.  Mess.,  1848-1849. 

So.  Lit.  Mess.,  1854. 

J.  Savage,  Dem.  R,,  1851. 

J.  Purves,  Dub.  Univ.  Rev.,  1875. 

With  portrait,  E.  C.  Stedman,  Scribner's, 

1880. 

J.  W.  Dalby,  St.  James  Gaz.,  1875. 

[fa] 


In  the  Poe   Circle 


POE,  Edin,  Rev.,  1858. 

R.  W.  Griswold,  Internat.  Mag.,  1850. 

-  W.  Minto,  Fortn.  Rev.,  1880. 
Fraser,  1857. 

-Tait's  Eel.  Mag.,  N.  S.,  1855. 

-  Nat.  Mag.,  1852. 

-  London  Q.  Rev.,  1854 

-  H.  A.  Huntington,  Dial. 

-  Irish  Q.  Rev.,  1855. 

-  J.  H.  Morse,  Critic,  1884. 
— •  Leis.  Hour,  1855. 

J.  Gartain,  Lippinc.,  1889. 

-  R.  H.  Stoddard,  Lippinc.,  1889. 

-  W.  O.  Curtis,  Am.  Cath.  Q.,  1891. 
-Ath.,  1890. 

— •  J.  L.  Onderdonk,  Mid-Continent,  1895. 

-W.  J.  Stillman,  Nation,  1875. 
R.  H.  Stoddard,  Harper's  Mag.,  1872. 

-  Canad.  Mo.,  1878. 

.  C.  Whibley,  New  Rev.,  1896. 

B.  M.  Ranking,  Times,  1882. 

John  Burroughs,  Dial,  1893. 

M.  A.  De  W.  Howe,  Bookman,  1897. 

—  M.  A.   De  W.    Howe,  Am.  Bookm,,  with 
portrait,  1898. 

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Rev.,  1856. 


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